Safe Haven
by shawn-n-belle
Summary: "Rachel clings to her like the way a scared child clings to its mother and Quinn just simply lets her. Because right now, Rachel needs her to be her safe haven, and right now that is the most important thing."


Safe Haven

**Summary:** "Rachel clings to her like the way a scared child clings to its mother and Quinn just simply lets her. Because right now, Rachel needs her to be her safe haven, and right now that is the most important thing."

**Disclaimer:** All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

* * *

It is piss pouring the rain in New Haven, Connecticut when Quinn is finally on her way back to her apartment after spending the majority of her night working on her piece due for her journalism class. It would be her luck, the blonde huffs as she opens her car door, that the one night that she actually had something important to do and ran out before checking the weather on her phone, that the flood gates would open and something the equivalent of a biblical disaster would be occurring. Because, it's not like her week has been bad enough already without the storm, it wasn't like she had failed an exam earlier in the week that was worth sixty percent of her final grade, been stuck with an idiot for a partner in her research and statistics class that had her doing all of the work, and managed to ruin her favorite pair of shoes. Grumbling as she stumbles across the parking lot using her purse as a makeshift umbrella, this storm is just a shitty ending to a very shitty week.

It takes her what feels like ages, as she is being drenched by what feels like must be the tears of Jesus rain, to find her keys hidden under receipts and post-its, at the bottom of her purse. She fumbles with the damn piece of metal until she hears a click and quickly shoves herself inside. Standing in the dark room of her one bedroom apartment, Quinn lets out an exhausted sigh as she allows the feeling of home rush over her. Except, it never comes, and it never has. Ever since she moved into this apartment her freshman year, she keeps waiting for it to click that this is her home. She has changed things, moved furniture around, rearranged the photos on the wall, bought new candles, she has done _everything_ she ever thought manageable to create that feeling. But there is just something about coming back to an one bedroom apartment in the center of a hustling city, _alone_, that makes Quinn feel more than alone inside.

Plopping onto her sofa, it is a routine that Quinn reaches for the pack of cigarettes lying on the coffee table. It's her new addiction, her new choice of poison. Some may say that it is a nasty habit, however, it could be nowhere near as bad as the alcohol that she had been involved in the spring of her freshman year, nor the professor bed hopping that she had found herself doing a few months back. Granted, she may be giving herself lung cancer, but at least this is an addiction that is a little bit more socially acceptable that bedding a man that is old enough to be her grandfather.

She struggles with the lighter once, twice, thrice…_finally_, she sighs as she exhales a cloud of smoke from her Camel menthol, a little bit of peace. It is kind of ironic though, she considers as she takes another hit of her cigarette, that the only piece of mind she can find these days is at the end of a nicotine filled cigarette when two years ago, she had been scolded for picking up such a habit. But then again, it could have also been the pink hair, or the Ryan Seacrest tattoo on her ass. Automatically, her hand rubs the lower back of her back in remembrance of the tattoo that is now replaced by a budding lily that branches out to a gardenia. Her mother had been outraged when she showed it to her, but in hindsight, when has Judy Fabray ever really been cool with anything her daughter has done?

Taking another hit of her menthol, Quinn flips the television on and funnily enough, Funny Girl is airing. It is a movie that is timeless, one that the blonde has seen numerous times throughout her life, so many, in fact, that she can't even keep count. However, tonight, the showing of the 1968 movie with Barbara Streisand brings a slight smile playing upon her rounded lips.

Often, Quinn Fabray finds herself wondering what life is like on the other side of the spectrum for her Glee family. She wonders what decisions Puck as made to do with his life; how Kurt's relationship with Blaine ever panned out; how Finn is doing in the Army and if he had finished with basic; if Brittany was enjoying her time at McKinley High with the newbies; if Mike and Tina ever really found a way to make it work. But mostly, Quinn finds herself wondering about Rachel. She is curious to see exactly how Rachel Berry is turning out, if she is becoming the big and upcoming star that she was always destined to be; if she is making strides at NYADA; and if she had ever learned that she was meant for things greater than Lima, Ohio and the people who surrounded her there. Yet, mostly, Quinn plagues herself with the question of exactly how Rachel _is_; if she is happy, _truly_ and completely happy. Because, out of everyone in her graduating class, if anyone deserved to find happiness, it was Rachel Berry.

The two of them have lost contact as they entered their sophomore year of their studies. Sure, they both had bus passes from New Haven to New York, and vice-versa, but as the weeks turned to months, they just didn't have time anymore. Every time they planned to make a trip, something would come up. A writing piece would be due, or Rachel would have an audition, or a boyfriend would be over and other menial excuses to avoid seeing each other. And Quinn absolutely **hated** it.

Because unfortunately, Rachel has managed to miss all of it, the good things and the bad things in her life; all the things that Rachel had inspired her to do. She missed her first article to make the front page of the school newspaper, and the fact that Quinn picked up photography, her first real job interview, the new car that she decided to buy on a spur of the moment, and the fact that she auditioned for a spring production of some lame ass musical. She has also missed the fact that in the past two years, Quinn has been struggling, between the alcohol, the bed hopping from one professor to the next, to the fact that at Will and Emma's wedding, she found herself in the sheets with her other best friend.

What an ill faded decision that was, Quinn groans as she takes another draw of her cigarette. Not only had it made her relationship with Santana extremely awkward and forced now, but it also made her question her sexuality. Is she gay? Exhaling a cloud of smoke, the blonde absently bites her bottom lip. Honestly, she isn't quite so sure. All the things that she knows that she was expected to feel for her past boyfriends, she certainly hasn't and it isn't like she is stopping boys on the streets to ask them out on dates because they are so damn cute. Plus, the sex with Santana was a hell of a lot better than any other sex she has ever had. So maybe, maybe she is. Or maybe it's a phase. Fuck if Quinn really knows.

But, there is someone who just might. Someone who has always managed to know what is going on with the blonde ex-cheerio no matter where she has been at in her life; someone who has always managed to give her direction. There has always been someone, whether Quinn liked it or not, who always _understood_ her, even when she couldn't understand herself. Someone who had been able to hold her hand every step of the way, even when Quinn absolutely hated her and wished that she would fall into a black hole and disappear forever.

It was Rachel. Just like it had always been Rachel, just like it would probably always **be** Rachel. Because Rachel Berry, regardless of what everyone else may say about her, is the one person that Quinn truly can count on, the one person who she knows will be able to put her life back together for her, the one person who will be her anchor in this crazy storm of life.

Crushing out her cigarette in the ash tray, Quinn grabs her phone off the table and searches for Rachel's number in her contacts. Finding it with ease, the blonde finds herself staring at the seven digit number. God, it had been… Quinn sighs as she pinches the bridge of her nose, forever since she last spoke to Rachel. How she even start the conversation?

'_Hey, I know we haven't spoken in a while but I think I might be gay?'_

No, Quinn grunts with a shake of her head, she certainly couldn't start off like that. A text like that would either cause Rachel to have a heart attack right there on the spot, or just burst out laughing at the absolute randomness of it all. There has to be a perfect way to contact the brunette that she misses so dearly, a perfect way to say exactly what she is thinking. Staring at the blank text for what seems like eternity, her fingers begin to delicately tap at the screen when there is a knock on the door.

"Damn it," Quinn grumbles with a hard roll of her eyes. Who the hell could be at her door at one thirty in the damn morning? _Especially_ when it is piss pouring buckets outside? Mumbling a variety of curses to herself, Quinn pushes herself up off her sofa and makes her way to her door. However, when she opens it, all the aggression and anger she had been feeling before, suddenly manages to wash away.

Because standing, soaking wet and crying on the other side of the door, is Rachel Berry.

"Rachel… what are you…" But Quinn cannot even form a complete sentence because all she can do is _look_ at her. Look at how her red coat is drenched with the pouring rain, how she looks like she hasn't slept in days, how the fedora that is usually sitting perfectly on her head is now slanted more toward the side, and how Rachel just **doesn't** look like Rachel.

Wrinkling her golden brow, Quinn shifts her weight as she studies the sniffling disheveled mess of her best friend who hasn't even looked up from the ground yet. Something is wrong, the blonde observes, because by now, Rachel would have already said four thousand words, sang a song, and commented on the fact that she absolutely reeks of cigarette smoke and how harmful that is to her voice as a singer, _especially_ when she is already pitchy.

"What is…"

"He's gone." It's the first words that Rachel utters and in that instant, Quinn knows that something terrible has happened. Since they last spoke, Rachel's voice sounds like it has dropped a few octaves, but maybe that is just from all the crying that the brunette has been doing. Suddenly, Quinn can feel it, that awful, terrible pain in the pit of her stomach, the same one that she felt when she placed Beth into Shelby's arms that day.

"Finn. Finn's dead." Rachel wails and suddenly, it feels as if Quinn has been gutted completely. It is like she has been hit with everything all at once and the breath has been knocked out of her all together. She can hear her heart racing in her ears, watch the color drain from the world, lose all feeling in her body.

"De-dead?" She stutters.

"He's **dead**, Quinn. Finn **died**," Rachel cries. Just like earlier, Quinn finds herself at a loss of what to say. Because, what does one say at a time like this? How do you make it better? How in the world does she make Rachel stop crying when all she wants to do is fall apart herself? Finn had been her first serious boyfriend and also the idiot who tried to make her life so much better than what it was. Finn, much like Rachel, had been the supporting hand that she needed. And now, in a blink, he is gone.

Before she even realizes it, Rachel is against her. Her face buried in the crook of her neck as her weak fingers grip at the fabric of her shirt, trying to hide herself away into her from the reality of the world. And Quinn, who normally isn't one for physical contact, just lets her. Because really, what else is there to do but simply hold Rachel right now? What else is there to do but hold her and let her cry, let her scream, let her be mad at the world and promise her that everything is going to be okay? What else is there to do but to simply be _there_ for her?

Quietly, Quinn pulls Rachel inside and sits her on the sofa, grabbing a blanket from the back of the chair and covering her in it. Sobbing, Rachel clings to her like the way a scared child clings to its mother and Quinn just simply lets her. Pushing back a few suppressed tears of her own, Quinn pulls her into her embrace as she swaddles her much like an infant, her hand gently sliding along Rachel's back reassuringly. The brunette lays her head on Quinn's chest as she cries into her and the ex-cheerio feels her heart break completely. Kissing Rachel's head softly, she begins to hum the only song that she knows will ever help the brunette and she prays that she doesn't notice the open text on the table that is addressed to her.

The text that reads:

_Rachel, I love you. _

Because right now, Rachel needs her to be her safe haven from the storm, and right now that is simply more important.


End file.
